No longer a babymomma

After a week since those first steps Felix is really getting the hang of walking, which means my Babymomma days are well and truly over. It's the end of an era.

But a new phase does lead to new discoveries, notably that Felix' walking currently resembles that of a heavy, plodding, somewhat malcoordinated monster navigating unknown territory.

Enter "Todzilla", most excellent new nickname.

Which makes Jambeans "Todzuki" - also very apt

Weekend Haven

The Orgs came to visit this weekend, with their adorable boys Reggie and Wilf. Reggie and Jambeans were playing in the BenDen (made up name for 'upside down paddling pool') when all of a sudden Jambeans emerged looking a bit worried and said, with some resolution "I don't want to play in the BenDen any more" at which point Reggie stood up, lifted the edge of the BenDen and revealed the fact he had stripped naked in there and was flashing his bits for all to see.

Laughed.
My.
Ass.
Off.

Parlez-vous francais?

Yesterday I got to speak to the lovely La Gitane, in person. A truly rare treat.

In which babymomma and poppa take a break

Gloriously sunny Bank Holiday Monday and it feels like the first time in 3 years we've just stopped. No outings, no shopping, no housework, no working from home, no plans, no nothing. Delicious.

Instead we're chilling in the garden and the kids are being fantastic. Jasmine's big thing right now is inventing words. Right now she's playing "roly goly boly poly" some bonkers game where you sit on a ball, fall off in a heap and giggle like a mad thing. Felix the Unstoppable Baby is climbing in and out of the paddling pool, then onto the garden chairs, and onto the table, then onto the trike, then across to the sandpit where he shovels vast handfuls of the stuff into his mouth, then back down the garden steps where he stage dives back into the paddling pool. He knows no fear. He is either a prodigy, or just plain stupid.

The fog is lifting

It's been a totally crappy few weeks. Bf and I seem to be permanently snapping at each other. I'm crying, lots. Whatever virus hospitalised Jambeans has passed onto the rest of us and we all have nasty, phlegmy, hacking coughs and runny noses and it's taking its toll physicially. I'm trying to juggle some freelance work. It's the kind of stuff I was doing about 7 years ago. It's dispiriting but it pays the bills (or some of them at least) and when I'm there it's balanced out by the great set of people I'm working with. But it's simply NOT what I want to be doing, and its getting me down the rest of the time. Felix and Jambeans have taken turns to vomit and cause havoc and wake up at stupid hours. My Dad, who's been in hospital for a month, was transferred to a nursing home and we got less than 24 hours notice. He didn't have so much as a pair of pants to keep him going and we haven't got a clue where the money's going to come from to ensure he has long-term care. It all adds to the stress. And of course, we're so so so so so soooo tired.

So we took time out yesterday, got a babysitter in and went to see Star Trek at the flicks. And it totally rocked. And this morning, I felt as if the fog was finally lifting.

A bright star in an otherwise dark firmament

For the umpteenth time in the last umpteen days I find myself unable to lever my lead body out of bed at early 0'clock. So I roll over, hide under duvet and leave boyfried to brave the morning and the kids solo, again, whilst I slip in and out of a coma. When I do finally haul my sorry ass out of bed (still early o'clock) I realise, yet again, I have woken in a deeply pissy mood.

So I spend the next hour pep-talking myself into some positive frame of mind and promise to do and be better today. It normally takes the form of some matronly abuse like: "Will you just belt up? Get outside, get some air, do something useful, smile, BE happy. And if you really want to lose weight just don't eat any chocolate today. And if you can't do any of that, FOR FUCK'S SAKE QUIT SULKING."

And this seems to be working, sort of. So I emerge from my bedroom, feeling sort of OK. I may not look the part - I am dressed like a woman who has clearly let go of herself but I just don't feel there's any point in wearing anything decent - but in my mind, I am confident I can stay in the good place. Until, until...

I am searching for Felix. He's gone very quiet. So I gently push open the door to Jasmine's room and find him on the other side, lips shut, slightly puffy cheeked, looking extremely happy with himself. I know that look, I've seen it on my sister's cat. It's the look of a baby (or indeed, cat) who has put something in his mouth. And instinctively, I just know what that something is. It's one of those bloody stars. You know, one of the silver, pointy, decorative, not quite paper, not quite card, not quite plastic, art'n'craft sort of stars. No more than a centimetre wide, but still wide enough to cause major trouble. And I haven't a clue where they came from, but I have found a few this last week whilst doing my habitual eye-scan of the carpet. And there was one in Jambeans' room, I am positive, but I was too lazy-ass stupid to pick it up last night.

So there it is, in Felix' mouth. And his look of satisfaction is fading to one of discomfort. So I try to stick my fiinger in his mouth and see if I can get the star out, but clearly, there's no hope in hell of that happening. They're hard enough to pick up when they're dry and on a flat surface. So I put him on his back and try to see where it is, which makes him cry, and doubtless makes it worse and sends it to the back of his throat. Then he makes some choky, swallowy noises. Then the swallowy noises stop and it's just choky noises. Plus some major screaming. Then screaming is hampered by more choking. And I am rubbing and whacking his back and trying to get him to cough it up, and all I can think is it's bloody well stuck to the side of his throat isn't it? And NOTHING is working, but Felix is getting more and more distressed and choky. So I am just on the point where mentally I am taking him to the hospital, and have the mobi out ready to call.. to call.. who? Anyone who can tell me what to do. 999 crosses my mind. Then the GP? Or NHS Direct, if I had their sodding number and am prepared to go on hold whilst my baby chokes to death. So I decide 999 and am just about to get through.... when Felix finally does a mega vomit all over himself, all over me, all over the carpet.

And before I can even be relieved, and knowing about the fact I knew there was no point putting decent clothes on today, with lightning speed Felix spots that twinkly shiny little star amidst all the vomit and cereal hoops and curdled milk and phlegm, picks it up adeptly between finger and thumb and moves to pop it straight back in his mouth. Cheeky little blighter.

And arse. My pep talk disappears. Poof. Away it goes. Drowned in vomit. Together with my sort of good mood. For the rest of the day.

Poison on the Underground

I think I've cried about six times today. And that was before I read Metro and its suicide-inducing crap.

I wonder...

I wonder if I'm having a mid-life crisis?

harrumph

God I feel so low today

Confessions of a bad mum

I've been in a dark place this weekend. Felix has been doing my head in. He's cutting molars - the painful ones - three of them simultaneously. It makes him very grumpy. And either it's coincidental, or somehow related, he's incredibly impatient with everything right now. So if he's playing with a toy and can't achieve what he wants to with it, he starts screaming. Currently he screams about once every 2 minutes. For a minute. That's a lot of screaming.

Normally you get to leave him to get on with stuff quite independently, and a scream means he's in trouble so you go and check on him. Now he screams all the time you have to check on him ALL THE TIME. And he's clingy. And wriggly. And has developed a habit of lurching his head back and trying to writhe out of your arms if you pick him up, even if he asked to be picked up. And he mostly does it on the stairs because he instinctively knows that's the worst place to drop a baby.

And that hasn't stopped all the relentless danger hunting either. He likes to think he can get down stairs facing forward, like a grown up. And this is before he can walk, or really balance properly on two feet. You have to be on hand to catch him, just in case he falls forward. And his latest new thing is reaching up to the kitchen worksurface with his fingertips to see what he can bring crashing down. Like plates. And knives, if he got the chance.

So, in summary - he's loud, demanding, attention seeking, quasi-suicidal and difficult to control from very early in the day to very late.

I've totally lost my patience this weekend. I've snapped at him and uttered the F word a fair few times. When he headbutted me on the chin on the stairs, making my head smash into the wall I shouted at him and cried. And I've ignored Jambeans. And snapped at the boyfried. And I've not given a fuck.

So last night, after two days of full on Felix we were beat. And then Jambeans woke screaming at 9.30 because she had a bad dream, and went mental. Total hysteria. Mainly in my ear. For two and a half hours. I understand why the Victorians locked hysterical ladies up now and threw awat the key. Anything to make them shut up. At more than one point I wondered if a good smack would be allowable in exceptional circumstances.

Boyfried wisely elected to sleep on the futon in Felix' room - not that he got any sleep either - and Jambeans whimpered her way through the whole night waking every hour or so to shriek and moan and scrumble.

Then Felix woke at 5.15am. Fuck me that's early when you've had no sleep. Bf and I had a barney over who should get up and look after him - both of us insisting the other should go to bed. I won. I fed Felix a chocolate biscuit for breakfast, whilst I had the last 4 with a very hot cup of tea. Then I zombied on the sofa and watched 2 episodes of Countdown before 7am.

I think I'm *supposed* to feel guilty. But I don't really feel guilty at all. I do feel guilty for being nasty to the bf, but I don't think I'm a bad mum at all. I may be more Slummy than Yummy but I still think I'm a pretty good mummy. And bf absolutely puts me to shame with his parenting prowess. But being in the dark place makes you reflective. And I've been reflecting that if this is the sum total of my life I don't particularly want it.

It's a common complaint of motherhood that you feel like a ghost of your past self. I've been feeling that very keenly this weekend. I'm a shadow of the person I used to be. The only time I feel even remotely close to that person I used to be is when I'm working. I had managed to find some freelance work - only 5 days of me being brilliant for crap pay - but work nevertheless. And that came to a close on Friday and I just crashed. It doesn't help.

Top 5 Tales of Vomit

#5
Fresh in (groan) at number 5 is the vomit Jambeans did last night. In bed. All over herself. A whole bowl of barely digested pasta slimed into her hair, her face, neck and back. Bits of it even managed to worm their way into her nappy. That vomit was still alive I'm sure. And she went absolutely hysterical whilst we tried to strip her off and clean it all up. This morning she said "Mummy. I need to go to hospital. Cuz I woz sick"

#4
When Auntie Ely did "This is how the lady rides" with Jambeans, also as a baby. It was just after an enormous feed. Poor auntie Ely is obviously not familiar with extreme reflux. It took 3 mussies to wipe up. We laugh about it now.

#3
When Jambeans nearly vomited in Daddy's mouth as a baby. The bf was holding her up high above his head and doing big, mouth-open ga ga noises. You can guess what happened next.

#2
Jambeans vomiting all over mummy's hair during the power cut. I slept with vomity hair all night. Queas-tastic.

#1
Only one entry from the wonder boy, but at least Felix tops the list with his amazing "let's-cover-the-sofa-n-daddy-with-more-vomit-than-you-thought-was-possible" number. it still makes me ROFLMAO.

What is the boyfried up to?

This morning, amidst the mayhem of breakfasting the kids, dressing them, brushing their teeth and us getting ready for work, boyfried found time to recreate my beloved 'R u dancin' playlist on iTunes which we had lost weeks ago when he reinstalled MSOffice .

How lucky am I?

I got so suspicious I asked him if he was having an affair...

Boyfried gets a chuftie badge

Boyfried just looked after the kids this morning so I got a two-hour lie in. Result.
AND he cleaned the oven too. Result squared.

Bluebell angels